


Under the Influence

by raphae11e



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Coming Untouched, Drunk Sex, Drunken Flirting, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Praise Kink, Rimming, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-14 22:43:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15399159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raphae11e/pseuds/raphae11e
Summary: Android booze is finally available for purchase, just in time for New Jericho's celebration of their first successful human relations conference. Markus is... skeptical. Until he tries the stuff, that is.





	Under the Influence

**Author's Note:**

> I can't stop writing fic for these two. Help. I can't escaPE

“You know, North, this probably… isn’t such a good idea.”

The hesitation in Markus’s voice has the exact opposite of its intended effect. North turns to him, arms full of unemptied crates, and grins. An absolutely dangerous look to see on her face. “What makes you say that?” she asks.

Clearly she’s feigning ignorance. The glint in her eyes is enough to tell him that. “Well,” Markus starts. He draws out the word teasingly, like the start of a lecture. As if anything he’s about to say is new to her. “For one, we have just successfully completed our first human-android relations conference.”

“Yes, we have.” North sounding pleased about peace brokering is nothing short of a miracle.

“Second, everyone is very _excited_ over this development.”

“As they should be!”

“Of course. But!” Markus holds up a hand when North goes to interrupt him. “Excitement compounded by _this,"_   he gestures to the boxes, “seems like… a lot.”

His attempt at eloquence is rewarded with a snort of laughter. “Markus, are you telling me you have no interest in trying the android equivalent of booze?”

Markus pauses. “I… didn’t say that,” he relents. “But--”

“Good. Here.” A glass bottle is shoved into his hands; a quick scan tells him the liquid inside is two parts thirium, one part “processor dampening fluid.” Something meant to slow down an android’s systems just enough that it mimics the effects of alcohol. Markus would be lying if he said he wasn’t… intrigued by it.

“You’ll be ready soon, right? Everyone’s probably going to want a speech out of you before things really get started.”

“Of course,” Markus replies, equal parts sincere and resigned. More and more frequently, he’s finding that there’s always a speech to give. He may want to do what’s best for his people, and he may not need to sleep, but he does get tired. Running on empty is a constant state he’s slowly coming to terms with.

As if reading his mind, North gives him a _look_ that means she knows he’s overthinking things. Again. “Just the one,” she promises. “Our people need to hear it.”

With a nod, Markus stands. “And I won’t let them down.” Then he smiles, brandishing the bottle at her in mock anger. “But after that, will you promise to leave me to drink this in peace?”

North laughs. Yet another elusive sight Markus is only just now getting used to. Strange, how much they’ve all changed in the past year. “If you think the situation down there will be anything remotely like _peace,"_   she says, “you’re going to be disappointed.”

 

The speech, at the very least, goes off without a hitch. Markus stands on the catwalk above the crowd in New Jericho, their recently christened base of operations, and raises his glass high. He toasts to understanding, to compromise, to freedom and respect, and cheers erupt beneath him. North, Josh, and Simon stand with him; for once, they all look equally satisfied with their success.

Once the crowd disperses to celebrate, he turns to Simon, whose smile is so wide and brilliant that Markus is momentarily stunned. “You, um. You want to go down there?” he manages to ask.

Simon nods. “We all deserve a little break,” he replies. Despite his excitement, there’s waver in his voice that betrays his nerves; Markus knows him too well not to catch it. A bottle is held gingerly in his hands, too, like he isn’t quite sure what to do with it. North has gotten to all of them, it seems.

“Well then, shall we?”

They descend into the sea of androids, all of them eager to congratulate or thank Markus for what they’ve accomplished so far. Their leader fends them off as best he can. “Everyone contributed to our success,” he says, or, “I couldn’t have done this without help.” Even if some people don’t seem to believe him, his words are genuine. Not a day goes by when Markus isn’t reminded that without constant support, he would’ve failed long ago.

And the longer he and Simon spend mingling, the more Markus realizes that North had been right. A building full of hundreds of androids, who only just _now_ have gained the ability to consume alcohol, and who have never before experienced inebriation in their entire, short lives… well. To use Markus’s own words, it’s _a lot_.

“I didn’t know some of us could blush that hard,” Simon murmurs at his right.

Eyes fixed on the pair of HR400s in front of them, their handsome faces flushed and stretched wide in smiles, Markus shakes his head. “I didn’t either,” he mutters back.

They’ve managed to fight their way through the crowd and find a social circle that isn’t too entirely overwhelming. It’s made up of several worn and sagging couches situated against the back wall, filled with androids laughing and talking and drinking. From this vantage point they have a perfect view of the rest of the room.

Everyone looks so _human_ , Markus marvels. The enthusiastic gestures and loud conversation are definitely adding to the illusion. That, and the tingling sensation that’s slowly growing in his lips and fingers is making him see the world as just a little rosier than usual.

“Simon!” An AX400 pushes her way into the circle. “I’ve been looking for you!”

The blond android shifts against Markus’s side, clearly taken aback. “You have?”

“Yes, I wanted to say that... Well, your proposition at the conference concerning the care and education of YK500s was incredible!”

Simon’s mouth falls agape in such a perfect expression of disbelief that Markus can't help but laugh. “Oh,” he says. Then, again, louder this time, “Oh!” He very nearly topples over Markus’s lap in his haste to sit up straight, cheeks tinged teal and growing brighter by the second. “Thank you!” he exclaims. His voice is like sunlight on ocean waters.

Markus sucks in a slow breath through his teeth, heat suddenly suffusing his insides. The cadence of Simon’s words should probably _not_ be affecting him in the way that they currently are.

“You know, people don't often consider the ramifications of child androids,” Simon is saying, “but it's really quite a complex situation. How should we treat beings that act as human children do, but in reality are much more durable and capable of complex thought?”

All the while, the AX400 is listening intently, nodding in agreement with Simon’s commentary. “I always thought we should integrate them with human children,” she suggests. “So they can socialize on a more natural level instead of just being programmed with social cues and mores.” She pauses with a look that can only be described as expectant. When Simon responds enthusiastically to her ideas, her answering smile is dazzling.

 _His opinion matters this much to her_ , Markus realizes. Pride grows in his chest, magnified by the warmth spreading through his artificial veins. He knows that, despite the PL600’s tendency to act as a silent observer, there are times when Simon feels left out of all the pageantry that is human-android negotiations. It isn't that his ideas aren't respected; as the previous leader of Jericho, people are still quick to listen when he speaks. But Simon has never been one to crave attention, and so he rarely provides advice unless asked directly.

Which means, of course, that Simon is currently very much in his element.

“I hope you bring this topic up again when everyone meets next,” the AX400 says. “There are so many important issues to discuss, but this one… this one means a lot to me.”

Simon nods in understanding. Both of them had been programmed as caretakers, after all; Markus, too, but he had been intended for the elderly or infirm. Children are Simon’s area of expertise, and a particular soft spot for him that Markus finds endlessly endearing.

“I promise you I will,” Simon replies earnestly.

The AX400’s smile only widens. Then, her attention suddenly drawn by an android at the other end of the circle, she gives them a parting wave and disappears.

Simon leans back against the couch, thigh pressed to Markus’s own. “Wow.”

“Wow,” Markus agrees. When he goes to shift his weight, he realizes his hand is trapped between the blond’s body and the back cushions of the sofa. He blinks in surprise; for how long had his palm been resting there, cradling Simon’s spine?

“We talked about so much at that conference. I didn't realize that my bit was even considered.”

Markus hums, pleased. Simon still has this look on his face like he’s caught in headlights, and it's… cute. Simon is _cute._ “You're amazing,” he says as he presses a kiss to the man's temple, right over his LED.

Even though Markus knows he's said the words a thousand times before, the blue eyes that meet his own are still white-rimmed in awe. “Me?”

“Yes, you. I’m sorry you aren't given more opportunities to talk at our meetings with the humans.”

“It’s alright.” Simon smirks, arching one eyebrow expertly. “It’s hard for _both_ of us get a word in, once North and Josh start going at it.”

Markus laughs again. The motion is so _easy._ Has it always been this way, and he just hadn't realized it? Apparently Simon is just as surprised as he is by this sudden ease, because the flush on his pale face is quickly deepening to something closer to sapphire.

“You're not wrong,” Markus replies. “But still, you deserve the floor more often. You're _brilliant_.”

Simon bites his lip, struggling to keep up a serious facade, and retorts, “Says you."

“And numerous other people, I’m sure. Don’t sell yourself short.”

PL600s, Markus is beginning to learn, are _immensely_ susceptible to praise. Ducking his head in embarrassment, Simon’s coloring slides past sapphire and straight to indigo. It even reaches the tips of his ears. Briefly, Markus wonders if the other android could overheat just from being complimented, and has to stifle a smile at the thought.

Then Markus’s stomach leaps as he feels a hand slowly snake its way to his inner thigh. In response, he allows the pads of his fingers to rub over the ridges of Simon’s spine. The motion causes the blond to arch, chin tipping back ever so slightly, and Markus tracks the movement hungrily. His vision is starting to waver a little now. He has to concentrate harder to remain focused, but that makes it all the rewarding when he catches the exact moment Simon swallows, throat jumping with the movement.

When Simon speaks next, his voice is low and languid. An ocean tide at night. “This feels… strange.”

“A little.” His eyes leave Simon’s face only to glance at the bottle in his hand. “We’ve only had one of these each.”

“One and a half,” Simon corrects him. Then pauses. “Well, maybe two. Someone handed me one earlier, and I didn't stop to check.”

Markus grins. The expression feels sharper than normal, and makes Simon go tense against his side. “Well, I’d better catch up, hadn't I?”

And catch up he does. It doesn't take long; people keep coming by to socialize, and inevitably someone offers another drink that neither of them are inclined to refuse. The general sense of excitement and intrigue surrounding the stuff is making it a huge hit with all the androids, apparently. Both of them included.

“It's hot in here,” Simon complains at length.

Markus huffs in amusement. “Maybe that's because you’re practically on top of me.”

Things have gotten a little haphazard. Simon currently has them pressed together from hip to shoulder, with one leg hooked over Markus’s own and his free hand still firmly in place on Markus’s thigh. Somehow he’s managing to be completely boneless yet taut as a bowstring at the same time. It's sort of impressive, if Markus is being honest.

Not that Simon hasn't proven himself to be, um, remarkably flexible. During previous interactions that absolutely did not involve Markus bending him over the nearest horizontal surface.

“How do humans do this so often?” he wonders aloud. Even to his own ears, the words sound slightly slurred.

“Maybe they're more resilient than we give them credit for.” Simon laughs, shifting against Markus in a way that is thoroughly distracting. Jokingly reluctant, he adds, “I guess they're superior to us in _one_ way.”

“Just the one.”

Simon hadn’t been wrong though; it _is_ getting warm. That probably has just as much to do with how they’re sitting as it does with the alcohol. When Markus leans forward to take another sip of his drink, his HUD tells him _thirium at max capacity._

“We should probably stop,” he says, however reluctantly. He’s really starting to enjoy this, but he isn’t exactly keen on having to purge all the excess blue blood from his system if he keeps this up. Besides, things are already pleasantly fuzzy and blurred, like he’s looking through translucent glass.

His suggestion is met with only a halfhearted noise of assent. They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, content to observe the conversations going on around them. Markus takes to rubbing his palm along Simon’s side in broad, sweeping motions, following the gentle slope where hip meets thigh, over and over. He knows he’s teasing; the way Simon shudders under his touch is enough to tell him that. Normally he wouldn’t be so tactile in public, but this situation feels like an exception.   

After some time, the body against his begins to move-- and then Markus is suddenly being pulled to the side, and a warm, wet mouth meets the curve of his neck.

“Markus,” Simon drawls, the name thick on his tongue, “are you going to keep doing that?”

Throat suddenly dry, Markus has to fight to swallow properly. “Only if you want me to.”

There’s the sound of rustling fabric as Simon presses impossibly closer. His thigh slides into Markus’s lap, trapping him in place, and that’s when the android leader realizes things are escalating very, very quickly.

“I do.” Those lips are pressed to his skin, so he feels the words more than hears them. “But maybe, ah, not… not out here.” Then, completely disregarding his own advice, Simon slides his hand up, up, until it’s resting against the juncture of Markus’s thigh and hip. If Markus had had enough processing power left to register the irony of that, he probably would have laughed. As things are though, all he can do is take a shaky breath and will himself to calm down long enough for them to move elsewhere.

Grabbing hold of Simon’s wrist, he pulls both of them up to stand on unsteady feet. The room sort of wavers beneath him, but Markus is more focused on the heavy-lidded gaze boring into his own. His voice is a whole octave deeper than normal as he says, “I think I may know a place.”

It’s significantly more difficult to weave their way through the crowd while drunk, but both of them are very… _driven_ people, at the moment. Simon’s hand has moved up to grab hold of his bicep and Markus’s skin burns at the touch. They pass Josh, who notices them late enough that he only manages to give a confused look and vague wave before he’s out of sight. Markus grins, feeling positively wolfish. The expression on his face is rare enough that it probably _does_ warrant that level of bewilderment.

They take the stairs two at a time. North spots them at the top, interrupts her conversation with an ST300 long enough to ask, “Where are you off to?”

“You know damn well where,” mutters Markus, and North rolls her eyes in a dramatic show of exasperation.

“Don't hurt yourselves!” she calls after them.

Markus snorts. _Hurt_ themselves, right.

But as they reach their bedroom and Simon wastes no time in sinking his teeth into Markus’s neck, he registers that injury may, in fact, be a distinct possibility.

“Ah-- _careful.”_

“Nope,” says Simon, popping the “p,” fingers already clawing at the hem of Markus’s shirt and yanking it over his head.

Blunt nails catch against his skin, and Markus hisses at the prickling sensation it leaves behind. This sense of urgency is new but definitely _not_ unwelcome. “I--" The breath is forced out of him as he falls back onto the bed, and Simon is quick to crawl on top of him. “I-I wasn't telling you to be careful for _my_ sake,” he manages to say between hurried kisses.

“Oh?” There's a lilt in the blond’s voice, teasing, as he crowds their hips together and grinds down.

Markus’s world blurs even further. Heat curls in his gut almost painfully; he _loves_ it. “I want you to be careful,” he tries again, even as his tongue seems to go numb in his mouth, “because I’m not sure if- if I’ll be able to…”

“To what? To be _gentle?”_ Another roll of hips has Markus’s hands flying up to grip Simon’s thighs, holding him firmly in place. Then he smiles, looking far more predatory than Markus is used to, and breathes, “Then don't be.”

Oh, how quickly Markus’s resolve evaporates from just those words alone.

Growling, he flips them over so that Simon is pinned beneath him and presses a bruising kiss to the other android’s jaw. He slides his palms up under Simon’s shirt to grope at the soft skin there. PL600s had been designed to appear non-threatening, but Markus knows better; Simon is stronger than he looks, with synthetic muscle hidden under a thin layer of padding.

“You're gonna regret saying that,” Markus grates out.

The blond picks up on the humor in his tone and laughs breathlessly. “Don't think so,” he replies, and forces their mouths together again.

After several more messy kisses, tongues unpracticed as new lovers, Markus presses a hand against Simon’s hips and forces him to still. “Slide those off and turn over,” he orders, gesturing to the man’s lower half. “There’s something I want to try.”

Simon is surprisingly capable of hiding his emotions when need be, but in his current state, his face is an open book. Eyes wide and brow furrowed in slight confusion, he obeys without question. It takes a moment of fumbling for him to unbutton his jeans and force them down past his knees. Once he manages it though, Markus sighs in satisfaction.

“Perfect,” he says, and Simon squirms at the praise. Even from this angle, his furious blush is still visible. Now it’s even starting to forge a slow but determined path down his pale neck and shoulders.

Then Markus reaches forward to slide his hands up Simon’s thighs and grab at his ass. The swell of it fits perfectly beneath his palms; he squeezes, hard, and is rewarded with a reedy whine from somewhere above his head. His thumbs press gently at pliant skin and pull apart to reveal the pink of Simon’s entrance. It's already leaking, flushed and wet and shining with slick. _Thank Cyberlife for self-lubrication_ , he thinks wryly.

“M-Markus," comes the gasp, “Wh-What are you--"

Before Simon has time to finish, Markus is leaning forward to press his lips against sensitive skin in an open-mouthed kiss.

The body beneath him jolts in pleasure. “O- _Oh,"_   Simon moans. “Th-That’s...”

 _Yes, yes it is,_  Markus thinks with a rumbling laugh, head spinning as the vibrations of it pipe their way up Simon’s spine and make him sob in pleasure.

Soft thighs spread wider of their own accord as Simon leans into every teasing touch. Markus’s tongue laves over the fluttering muscle, tasting synthetic lube and something distinctly Simon, even though that shouldn't be remotely possible. He imagines what his face must look like by now, with drool and slick coating his lips and chin. The image makes him groan and double his efforts.

“ _Fuck,"_   Simon gasps. His voice is tenuous and his muscles trembling as Markus’s tongue presses _just_ hard enough to breach his hole.

Markus hums in response, “mhn,” because yes, _fuck,_ absolutely. A trail of slick is dribbling down his neck now, and his lips are starting to go numb, and his own thighs are shaking with the effort it takes to remain still, and, and.

“Y-You can’t--" The noise of skin against sheets. “M-Markus, i-if you keep-- I’ll--"

Markus stops just long enough to smirk against heated skin. “That's the idea.”

“B-But I, I want you to…” Simon’s torso twists just enough for him to look over his shoulder. Muscles shift under his skin as he does so, the dip in his spine standing out as his back arches even further. The blue of his eyes has nearly been swallowed up by lust-blown pupils. He doesn't finish his sentence.

“Want me to…?” coaxes Markus. As if he’s not already rocking back ever so slightly on his heels, reaching down to fumble with his zipper.

Simon shakes his head as if to clear it. It’s obvious he’s trying desperately not to lean backwards, to spear himself on Markus’s tongue and just be _done_ with it. Finally, he manages to spit out, “I want you to _fuck_ me,” and his eyes flash as he says it.

Shoving his pants down just enough to free his trapped cock, gasping at the sudden thrill of arousal, Markus simply replies, “ _Yes.”_ His palm slides up the expanse of Simon’s back as he clambers onto the bed, balance totally wrecked. With the slightest touch to his shoulder, Simon turns over again.

Every sight and sound and touch feels like Markus is experiencing it through gossamer, but his slowed senses don’t make the pleasure any less acute. Especially not when their bodies meet, limbs moving clumsily in tandem until Simon is bent nearly in half, legs hooked over Markus’s broad shoulders.

Like he’d said before: remarkably flexible.

“God,” Markus breathes, “you’re so beautiful, Simon.”

His lover opens his mouth to reply, but then Markus is rolling his hips forward in one slow, sinuous motion, and all coherent words die on parted lips.

“A-Ah--” Simon’s chin tips back to reveal a white flash of throat, so beautifully submissive that it makes Markus want to cry. Instead he braces his arms against the sheets and sets a pace so punishing that the bed frame shudders beneath them.

Shaking hands slide up to grip at his nape and pull them even closer. Vaguely, Markus registers that they never took the time to properly undress; Simon’s shirt is bunched up under his arms, while Markus’s jeans are still pooled halfway down his thighs. Somehow that adds to the excitement of it. He almost wishes they were capable of sweating, too, if only to feel their skin catch as their bodies come together. Not that the copious amount of slick and precome they’re producing isn’t doing the job.

With the strength of his thrusts, it’s not long before Simon is burning up beneath him. His ass grinds over and over into the cradle of Markus’s hips, cock twitching between their bellies. Every movement forces the breath out of him in sharp, needy noises. When Markus opens his eyes long enough to sneak a glance, he can tell that Simon’s own are half-lidded and glassy with tears. He looks like a complete _mess._

“So good for me,” Markus finds himself saying, and Simon’s mouth opens in a near silent moan. “Perfect,” he continues, “so perfect,” while sucking invisible marks into pale skin. “You’re _mine."_   Bodies flush, cock buried to the hilt, he feels Simon clench hot and tight around him.

In every place they’re touching, skin is pulling away to reveal the white plastic beneath. There’s a flash of shared lust and love between them, and then Simon is choking out, “ _Markus,"_ and their arousal bubbles over.

It seems like an infinite amount of time before Markus’s vision begins to clear. When his joints have finally decided to unlock and his spine no longer feels like liquid, he slides out of Simon and sits down heavily on the bed. He’s so blissed out that he hardly notices the way the bedroom continues to swirl dizzyingly around him.

Limbs still entangled, a comfortable silence settles over them. Heavy breathing fills the air as artificial lungs struggle to keep their biocomponents from overheating. Markus has to blink away the spots blooming before his eyes as his HUD tells him, _system cooldown in progress;_ when he exhales, it feels like pure steam. If he were human, surely there’d be a pleasant ache in his muscles by now.

Simon gazes up at him from under long lashes and smiles. “S’go again,” he slurs after a moment. He’s still coming down from his high, barely capable of keeping himself upright, but the words are insistent.

His eagerness startles a quiet laugh out of Markus. If he’s being honest, a second round doesn’t sound half bad. Especially not with Simon splayed out on their bed like this, thighs still twitching, come staining his belly and leaking out of his pliant body. Markus feels his cock throb in sudden interest. He’d been built with inhuman stamina for a reason, right?

And then there’s a loud (yet somehow apologetic) knock at the door.

Both he and Simon nearly jump out of their skin, scrambling for blankets or pillows-- until they realize the door is still closed, and that whoever’s standing outside is remaining silent.

“… Yes?” Markus asks hesitantly, wincing as it comes out garbled with static.

“Sorry, uh.” Josh’s voice. “It’s me, and well-- not to, um. Bother either of you. But.” There’s a long suffering sigh, and Markus can’t help but roll his eyes affectionately at the slur in their friend’s words. Thank God he and Simon aren’t the only ones. “North told me to ask how you liked the drinks. You, specifically, Markus.”

Markus tips his head back, eyes fluttering shut, and doesn’t bother to stifle his frustrated groan. “Tell her they were… fine,” he relents, even as a smile grows across his face.

There’s another sigh from Josh, followed closely by a quiet laugh and the sound of retreating footsteps.

A beat of silence. Then Simon asks, “She terrorized you into trying it, didn’t she?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Of course.” The blond tilts his head, cheek resting against one raised shoulder. His teeth are beginning to worry away at his bottom lip; he’s already sobered up enough to feel embarrassed, then. “I, um. I think I like it, though.”

“So do I. _Don’t_ tell her I said that.”

Simon grins. “I think she’s figured it out by now. Judging from our… well. You know.”

Humming in amused agreement, Markus allows the conversation to peter out into quiet. Enough time has passed that their breathing has calmed and their bodies no longer seem on the verge of collapse. Even so, when Markus’s eyes meet Simon’s, something unspoken arcs between them like an electric current.

“So,” he starts, “About that second round…”

The sentence isn’t even finished before Simon’s arms are around him. “Oh, _absolutely.”_

 _Maybe I_ ought _to thank North,_  Markus thinks. After all, this whole evening had been, in the end, a _fantastic_ idea.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like all of my recently finished fics have ended with a note saying, "this isn't what I meant to post next." Well.......... folks, this isn't what I meant to post next lmao. But it was loads of fun to write regardless! Considering the other stuff I'm working on has Big, Serious Feelings (tm) in it, this was a nice break. I hope you all enjoyed it! See you again soon B^)


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